Lena Marris had always believed in the power of a good story, the kind that made you feel like you were standing in the middle of a mystery, breathing the same air as the people caught in it. It's why she became a journalist — chasing the untold truths that others were too afraid to touch. But even she hadn't expected this.
The Halcyon Hotel stood as a faded relic from another era, its tall stone façade casting shadows over the street as the early morning mist curled between its iron gates. If you didn't know it was there, you might walk right past it without a second glance. But Lena knew. She'd been tracking the whispers for weeks — reports of missing persons, all last seen entering the same hotel.
She'd gotten a tip from an old source, a former employee who disappeared off the grid after leaving a cryptic voicemail. All she had was a vague mention of room 428 and the promise that if she found it, she'd find the answers.
But that was before she even stepped inside.
The lobby was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of old leather and stale perfume. The bellboy, a man with unnervingly pale skin and eyes that never blinked, greeted her with a smile that didn't quite reach his lips.
"Good morning, Ms. Marris," he said, his voice low and calm, too calm. "Your reservation's been prepared. Room 428."
Lena froze for a fraction of a second, her pulse quickening. How did he know her name? She hadn't even said it out loud. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, but she forced a smile, keeping her tone professional. "Thank you," she replied, clutching her worn leather bag a little tighter. "I appreciate it."
The bellboy handed her a key, but there was something strange about it. It wasn't the usual metal key you'd expect from an old hotel. This one was encased in a small, black box, the kind you'd only see on a VIP or private floor.
"Room 428," he repeated, his voice trailing off as if he were warning her. "Right down the hall. Third door on your left."
As she made her way down the narrow corridor, the silence grew thicker. There were no sounds of life — no murmurs, no footsteps. Just the sound of her own breathing and the soft tap of her heels on the threadbare carpet.
She reached room 428.
The door was ajar, an invitation, but there was no note, no card that slid under the door. The room felt eerily empty, save for the dim light flickering overhead. But it wasn't the emptiness that made her pause. It was the subtle sense that the room was waiting for her.
As she stepped inside, the door swung closed behind her with a soft click. Her heart skipped a beat as she turned to find the lock — but there was no keyhole. No lock. No way to open it again.
Panic fluttered at the edges of her mind. She reached for the handle, but the door wouldn't budge. Not even a millimeter.
The room was quiet. Too quiet.
Her gaze shifted toward the window — and her breath caught.
The mist outside had thickened, obscuring the view of the street below. But there, just beyond the glass, she saw something. A figure. Standing in the fog. Watching her.
Lena's throat tightened. Her pulse quickened again, the feeling of being watched creeping up her spine. She rushed toward the window, but as soon as her hand touched the cold glass, the figure vanished.
Her mind raced. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe someone was staying in the room across from hers, or maybe she had imagined it.
But as she turned back toward the room, her eyes fell on something far more unsettling — the mirror.
It wasn't the reflection that bothered her. It was the face that hadn't been there a second ago, now staring back at her.
She froze.
A chill ran down her spine as the face in the mirror smiled.